Chapter Three
CHAPTER
THREE
It was two days before they finally took the city. Two days and two nights of Jaykun’s nightly punishment. And never once did he see the strange beauty again.
Not until the third night, when he left his brothers in charge of the city and went back to the cove. He was watching the setting sun with one eye and picking his way into the cove with the other, so he nearly ran into her as he moved away from the rocks and waded into the water.
She was sitting in the water, the waves lapping at her bare skin, her breasts just barely touching the water’s surface.
It was daylight now so he could see her clearly.
Her skin was not as dark as he had thought it was initially.
She was a warm cocoa color, her nipples dark and as large as a gold coin.
Her eyes, now plainly visible in sunlight, proved to be an iridescent green and regarded him with open curiosity.
“May I watch you boil the waters?” she asked him.
“It is not a spectator sport,” he said almost irritably. But he couldn’t figure out if it was because she didn’t understand that what happened to him was involuntary and painful or because his body inexplicably tightened with a curious attraction toward her.
Why did she have to be so damn beautiful? Perhaps if she were less so he would find her more aggravating, find her intrusive to a fault. Because he thought he should be reacting that way, he did so without really feeling the temper of it.
“And yet I have watched you every night. Is it as painful as it looks? You burn … like a star. I can feel the warmth even at a distance.”
“And a distance is where you should stay,” he bit out.
“But … it is beautiful. A star in the shape of a man.” She stood up and walked toward him. She reached to touch him, but he pulled away.
“It hurts. It is pain beyond anything you can imagine. There is nothing beautiful about it.”
She was undeterred. She moved forward again, her hands coming to rest on his chest. Jaykun felt the coolness of her hands through his tunic. It was compelling, the sensation of her touch somehow alluring to him.
“You are not hot now. Your skin is simply warm. Like any man’s would be?”
It was a question and he found that curious.
Hell, he found everything about her curious.
She was curious in both being and action.
She was sloe-eyed, her cheeks full at the apple.
She had the gentlest nose and thin little brows that crested in the middle.
Her hair was straight, sleek, and shiny.
It was wet from her lower back down and overall a perfect sheen of black.
There were no lights to her hair, no sign of fairness. It was simply rich and dark.
“That will change very soon. And you shouldn’t be near when it does. You will get hurt.”
“I will be careful,” she promised him. “It happens the same every night at dusk?”
“Yes. Every night.”
“Why?”
“It is a long story,” he said evasively.
“Well, I believe there will be time later and you can tell me then. It won’t last all night.”
“Only half of it,” he said, his tone scoffing.
“It could last the entire night,” she pointed out, “It is lucky that it is only a short while.”
He supposed she had a point. But then again, she didn’t have to suffer every minute of it in excruciating, burning pain as he did.
She was watching it from the outside. It still made him uncomfortable to think of her watching him as he lay vulnerable and burning.
It was almost like … like being stripped naked in front of someone he would much rather keep hidden from.
He cast an anxious eye toward the sky again. “You must leave,” he said sharply.
“I will stay,” she persisted. “I will watch as I have done every night these past nights. And then, when you are done, I wish to talk to you for a little while. I have so many questions.”
“What if I do not wish to talk?” he said abruptly. Inside his body he could feel it. Feel it starting. Warming his skin in an all too fleeting sensation of comfort, chasing away any coolness in the air or brought by the waters.
“You will talk,” she said assuredly. “Lam sure of it.”
“Leave,” he pressed. Then in a more gentle tone, “Please.”
She smiled at him, backing away and moving to the farthest edge of the cove.
Then she sat down on a flat boulder, not in the water, crossing her legs and smiling at him expectantly.
And whether he wanted to or not, he was going to put on the show she was expecting.
He couldn’t decide if that galled him or made him feel …
comforted. There was something comforting about knowing he wasn’t going to be alone.
Oh, she couldn’t really be a part of it, but … he wasn’t alone.
He slowly began to undress, his eyes never leaving hers as he did this.
He was not a shy person. He really did not care if he was naked or clothed in front of strangers.
He was that confident in knowing he would never be truly vulnerable in the world, that he would always be able to take care of himself even if all he had were his bare hands.
Even those men who had waylaid him the night he had met her—he was sure he would have prevailed in the end.
But there was something about undressing in front of her that felt …
provocative. Feeling her curious eyes on him was almost like feeling her touch against his skin.
He tried to shake it off, but that was hard to do when his body was filling with heat at the same time.
Soon he would burn. Burn for her eyes to see and watch.
Again, it felt intimate. Far too intimate.
He was shocked to realize that by the time he was fully naked, he was inexplicably hard. Aroused. Aware.
She took all of this in. All of him in. Her eyes were wide and curious, and she was nibbling a little on her bottom lip.
Slowly he sat down in the water, letting the coolness of it wash over his hot body.
And for some reason, just before he broiled into cinder and ash, his body burning away in fierce bits and pieces, he thought of how long it had been since he had been intimate with a woman.
And then he thought of who that woman had been.
His wife. Casiria. The woman he had once loved with everything he was.
She had birthed his sons for him. She had meant everything.
But she and his sons were long gone now.
He had not had the opportunity to see them grow into men, and he had no way of finding out what kind of men they had become.
They were dead. Long dead and forgotten by everyone but him.
The water boiled as though in response to his turmoil, in response to his present pain and the memory of pain. Pain no one would ever understand … pain he had never shared with anyone.
By the time juquil’s hour arrived, he felt destroyed in more ways than one, more ways than just the physical.
His body was ravaged and burned, brittle and blackened.
Almost everything he was had been burned away to the bones.
It took some time before his eyes healed enough for him to be able to see her, for his muscles to finally move under his command.
She was close to him, her hands reaching out gently to him, touching his burned flesh.
“I see now. I see the pain of it,” she said. “I could not tell from a distance before … but now I see how truly painful this is for you. Can I do something to give you relief?” she asked, her eyes and tone tender and warm.
“Your kindness is enough,” he said. And he meant it. There was something soothing in her nearness.
“Now we can talk until you feel better. Tell me, who are you here in the world of men?”
The question was a curious one, but he answered her. “I am a warrior. But you know this.”
“You are more than a warrior, to be sure. My father is a warrior, but he is also a husband, a father, and a brother. Who are you?”
“I am a brother,” he said. “One of four. Two are with me here, in the city of Kriza.”
“And are they warriors too?”
“Yes. Very strong ones. They are impressive men.”
“And do they burn like you do?”
“One did. It was different for him. It was the flames of hell that burned him. I … I burn like the sun, from the inside out.”
“You say he did. You mean in the past? But no longer?”
“Yes,” he said, not elaborating further.
But she did not let him get away with that, and he had not expected she would. “Why did he stop?” she asked.
“It is a long story.”
“Why did it start?”
“You ask too many questions,” he said irritably.
“How else am I to know you?”
“What if I don’t want you to know me?” he asked of her, his tone hard.
“Nonsense,” she said dismissively. “You wish to know me, and so I must know you.”
“I never said I want to know you.”
“Of course you do,” she said with a lift of her chin. “All men find me curious and compelling. They always wish to know about me and my kind.”
“Your kind?”
She brushed past the inquiry. “Tell me, have you children? A wife?”
These questions irritated him further, so he almost did not answer. But in the end, he said, “I did once. What of you?”
“Oh, I do not have a wife. Nor do I have children.”
He fought the urge to smile. “And what of a husband?”
She frowned. “There is one who wishes to be my mate, but I do not wish it in return.” Her frowned deepened.
“He cannot understand that …” She trailed off, clearly not meaning to speak aloud on the matter because she looked at him as though in surprise.
It was strange because he felt as though she was otherwise open to his questions …
when in fact she had smoothly dodged some of his return inquiries.
“I need to get back to my brothers,” he said, trying not to sound as full of consternation over that fact as he was.